Just One Thing (23 page)

“How did you change?”

“I discovered he wasn’t perfect. I found my mother’s laughter and realized how much she loved me. That kind of knowledge can’t help but change you. I was different after that.”

“And Gracie?”

“That’s a pain I’ll never fully get over, but I learned to live again. I learned to appreciate Connie and Conner. I guess I grew up.”

“And . . .”

“And I thought I’d faced the worst of it. But there was Lee. You haven’t asked what happened to him.”

“I knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“He died.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sitting in the truck, staring out at the ever-darkening bay, I realized I was too. I was sorry about Lee.

“But there’s more. You see, as I’ve told you these things, I never told you about Lee. That’s why I needed to tell you that he was a good father. He had very big highs, but he paid for it with very deep lows. When I met him, that day on campus, he was on a high. When he went low, I was there to pull him out. After Gracie, he went low. I did, too. I could barely save myself, much less pull him out of his depression. There was a whole other depth to Lee’s lows. Medication helped even things out, but he didn’t always stay on it.”

“After the kids graduated . . .” Sam prompted.

“We got back together and took the trip to Ireland. Things were good for a while. For a few years. Then he went off his meds. I realized it one night when . . .”

Lexie pulled in the garage and was happy to see Lee’s car there. She couldn’t wait to share her news. Maybe that’s the secret to a good marriage—having someone you want to share your good news with. She’d been asked to enter some of her pottery
in a local exhibit. “Lee,” she called as she came in, hung her coat on the hook, and kicked off her shoes. “We’re going out to dinner. You’ll never guess . . .”

The house was dark. There was no sound.

“Lee,” she called again. Still nothing.

She wandered through the house, looking in each room. She went upstairs and checked the bedrooms, one by one. She paused outside Gracie’s door, then forced herself to twist the handle and go in.

Lee lay curled up in a fetal position on her bed, facing the wall.

“Lee?”

“It’s not helping, Lex.” He didn’t turn around as he spoke. Didn’t move. “I thought if we got back together, I’d feel better. I’d feel like myself again. But I don’t. I thought you might be enough, but you’re not.”

His words cut at her, but she forced herself to put the pain on hold. “Did you take your meds today?”

“They don’t help. They just make everything fuzzy. I feel numb.”

“Maybe numb is better than this.”

“You’re not my mother, Lex. Hell, I don’t even think you’re going to be my wife much longer. We should have just stayed divorced.”

“Lee, this is your illness talking.”

“No, this is me. Me off the medications. Me allowing myself to feel. And right now, I feel as if I was wrong to get back together with you. I was wrong to think we could get back what we had. It’s over. We’re over.”

“Fine. We can be over after you get better. Why don’t I
take you to the hospital? Remember how much better you felt last time?”

Lee finally turned and faced her. She hardly recognized him. His face was etched with despair as keen as it had been right after Gracie.

“Don’t you think I’d go with you if I thought it would help? It won’t. Nothing will help.”

“You stay here, and I’ll go call Conner.”

“No. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Lee lived under the delusion that the kids didn’t know he was sick. “He’s seen you like this before,” she reminded him gently. “He’d want to help.”

As if he’d used up all his energy, Lee turned back to the wall.

Lexie wanted to cry. She knew it was Lee’s illness talking, but knowing and feeling were two different things, and right now, she was feeling hurt.

For so many years she’d overlooked moments like these. She told herself Lee couldn’t help his illness. He couldn’t help the words he threw at her like weapons. They were designed to hurt her. To make her feel the pain that he felt.

Well, he’d done that. His words hurt.

But rather than being crushed by the pain of it, she was angry.

She’d felt many things about Lee. Love. Amusement. Gratitude. Sadness. But for the first time, she was well and truly angry.

“I thought you might be enough, but you’re not.” I sighed. “I knew it was his illness, and I knew he loved me. But those words hurt. And for the first time, I didn’t want to make allowances for his illness. He’d hurt me because he could and I was angry.”

“What happened then?”

“Conner came and helped me get Lee to the hospital. We checked him into the psych ward. They started his meds again and he went to his therapist, but those words stood between us. He apologized and I said it was okay, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t enough. I hadn’t been enough to save Gracie. I wasn’t enough to save Lee. He was slipping and I couldn’t hold on to him. I tried. I’d healed enough from losing Gracie that I thought I could help him, like I always had. But after we took him to the hospital, things got worse. A year and a half ago . . .

Lexie woke up with what the kids used to call brain-fuzz. It took her a moment to orient herself to where and when she was. The where was pretty easy—in bed. The when was a bit harder—she glanced at the clock and it read three. Three in the morning, she quickly determined. The next thing that filtered through her fuzz was that she was in the bed alone. Lee wasn’t there.

After that, the realization that someone was ringing the doorbell made it through.

It was probably Lee.

She couldn’t decide why he’d be out until three in the morning and was still too fuzzy to figure it out. She’d let him in and just ask.

She didn’t bother with slippers or a robe. Lee had seen her in her scruffy cutoff sweats and tank-top pajamas before.

She opened the door and started to say, “Where were—” She didn’t get to the
you
part because it wasn’t Lee at the door. It was a police officer.

A police officer wearing a very pained expression. He probably knew Conner. She wondered if something had happened to her son. “Mrs. McCain?”

“Yes. Is it Conner?”

The cop looked confused.

“My son’s a cop,” she explained.

She saw the recognition in his eyes. He shook his head. “No, I’m not here about a Conner. Maybe I should call him and—”

Suddenly, Lexie knew. “It’s about my husband?”

He nodded. “Your husband is Julian McCain?”

“Lee. He hated being called Julian.” She said the words, even though she knew Lee’s preferences didn’t matter anymore. The police officer didn’t need to say another word, because she knew. It was easier to comment on his name than on the fact that Lee was gone.

She wasn’t sure how, but she knew her husband was gone.

“The cop called Conner. He showed up fifteen minutes later. They said it was an accident. I’d like to believe it was, but I can’t. Lee wouldn’t take his meds and had been so depressed. I’d never seen him that bad before.”

After that last time in the hospital, I brought him home and his mood had evened out for a few weeks, but then got worse. “He lost his job. He’d be in bed when I went to work, and he’d still be there when I got home. I couldn’t pull him from this hole and neither could the kids. In fact, after they would visit, he’d be worse, so they stopped visiting. I think it was all just too much. I think he . . .” I hesitated. I’d never given voice to the thought before. “I think he killed himself. I think he drove his car into the side of the hill.”

“Lex . . .”

“I was used to his highs and lows, but this wasn’t just low. He’d fallen down the rabbit hole and no amount of therapy or medication seemed to help.”

I realized Sam was holding my hand as he squeezed it. “Lex, I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. I wanted to save him, but I couldn’t.”

“You talked about a line,” Sam said. “Something you don’t recognize until afterwards. This was your line. This is why you moved out to the cottage, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And before, I figured out who I was after I crossed a line—after Gracie and my dad. But I’ve floundered since losing Lee. Since he left me. I’ve been sad, but I’ve been angry, too. I’ve been so much of both, I haven’t had time to figure out who I am now.”

“I know who you are. I could tell you, but telling doesn’t work. You have to figure it out on your own. You have to know in your heart that you did everything you could for Lee. And maybe you need to face the fact you can’t save everyone. You can love them, but you can’t save them. No matter how much you want to, you can’t.”

Sam got very quiet. He looked blindsided.

I sat with him, waiting, and finally he whispered, “You can’t save everyone. I crossed a line after I came home and I think I just now figured out who I am on this side of it.”

He squeezed my hand. “I couldn’t save Neil. He died that night from traumatic brain injury. I couldn’t help but feel guilty. If we hadn’t worked on the play, if he hadn’t gone for that shot . . . I lost my best friend. I became a doctor and thought I could make it up to Neil by saving others. I thought that I could do that in the military, so I volunteered. And . . .”

He stopped. Waiting. Waiting for the words that would allow him to share.

“One thing,” I said.

He got quiet again and then said, “I don’t remember the explosion. I just remember the aftermath.”